


lilacs

by starrshard



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst and Romance, F/M, Flowers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I love them so much, Kimura Seiko is Tojo Kirumi and Shinguji Korekiyo's Child, Kirukiyo, Korerumi, Language of Flowers, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, POV Second Person, kinda?? not rlly but sorta?, theyre my otp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 12:14:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20966393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrshard/pseuds/starrshard
Summary: you always made a point to gift her lilacs.





	lilacs

you remember your first date with her, of course you do. you now fondly relive how you talked with her, trying to get to know more about your new girlfriend; you had never dated anyone except your own sister, which you later realized had been a toxic relationship. so with another girl willing to give you love and time, you want to treat her well.

one of the first things she divulges to you is that her favorite flower is the lilac. you think they suit her; elegant and serene. ever since that day, you make it routine that you gift her lilacs at any given chance; little reminders of your love and appreciation for her, when you could not make it yourself.

at first, it is something small, a surprise for her after school one day. but soon, it becomes habit; a branch you sneak into her locker when she stays late to tutor. a flower left on her desk if you arrive early. a bouquet you give on your second date. you mix in other flowers she likes as well; the primrose, some sakura, a bundle of hydrangea or daisies- but you always make the pretty little bundles of petals the limelight.

once, you wonder if she is growing tired of your relentless shower of lilacs. you ask her, and she tells you no, that she loves the gesture, however small, and that any gift from you is beautiful. you take her word for it and keep it up, albeit perhaps a little less overbearingly.

a singular flower, pinned in the pages of her notebook, among neat, elegant lines of her handwriting. a bundle left in her dormitory after your study visit. a beautiful crown, woven from reeds and twine, adorned with lilacs, one you place delicately upon her head, sitting in the meadow on your date with her; she is surprised but delighted, and impressed you managed to create such a trinket after only a week of working on the patterns. you had practiced countless times weaving the plants together, for hours until midnight some days.

she deserves only the best from you.

you also never expect anything in return. it is just a habit for you; another little way to express your affection, inform your lover of your admirations. she asks you one day about it, and you reply that it is your treat, something you enjoy doing, seeing her happy, seeing her smile. you wish she will smile more; her laugh is like harps and windchimes.

her love is all you will ever need, anyway.

***

graduation comes and goes like a gust of wind. you move in together and pursue your own careers further; she receives dozens of requests every day, and you ache just seeing her schedule, packed to the brim with orders and tasks. you feel beyond thankful every night, falling asleep with the beautiful maid dozing in your arms; she falls asleep first without fail every night, exhausted but satisfied with her work.

you are an anthropologist, studying from books and articles from day to night. you work at the scientific office a train ride away, but you often travel abroad for your studies as well. you love to see new places and absorb the varieties of cultures, taking notes and discovering new things, but your heart pangs for your girlfriend at home, who must take care of the apartment and cook her own dinner after a whole day of running from place to place. you wonder if she is lonely without you there. she reassures you that she can take care of herself when you are absent, but you wish you could always be there for her anyway.

every time you get home, you gift her lilacs. they remind you both of high school, of youth and naivety and freedom. you try to sneak in the gifts as often as you can, especially when you are due to leave for another trip. a flower left in her bag. a few fresh petals placed in her tea, prepared for her after a long day’s work. you even wake up early before you leave sometimes, biking down to your office to clip a branch from the lilac bush you planted in the back of the building. you ride back home and leave it on your shared nightstand before you go. you make sure to never wake her up; she sleeps soundly by nature, especially with her heavy workload, so you are safe from being caught.

***

you love your girlfriend a lot; that is a fact, an established statement both of you know well. she loves you too, as much as you, maybe more. it is hard for her to carve out time in her schedule, though, for anything she herself wants.

so when she tells you you are going on a date that night with her, you were pleasantly surprised but happy. dates are not something that happen often, with all the work you both have. she takes you to the beach; a small, private little secret. it is serene; tranquil. you watch the sunset together, the dull sky and pale sun falling towards night. it is beautiful, nostalgic, perfect… 

she starts talking, recalling all of your best memories together. she gets up and turns to face you. you gasp as she gets on one knee and presents to you a ring, settled within a red velvet box. a silver ring, one that reflects the fading sun, the light of a million stars trapped within the crystals on it. a ring, you later discover, has roses and lilacs engraved along the inside.

_”Korekiyo Shinguuji. will you marry me?”_

you say yes, a million yes’s, enough to last a lifetime. she smiles, crystalline tears slipping down her face. you smile and cry too, overjoyed as she slides the ring smoothly onto your finger.

it symbolizes her. her and her love, your love, your shared connection, linking the two of you for the rest of time.

***

a few things change after your girlfriend becomes your fiancé, then your wife. you move to a house on the outskirts of the city with her, a house lovingly crafted into the Toujou-Shinguuji household. You have to do more cleaning when you occasionally work from home, and it takes longer to go to your office, so you can no longer bike there and leave lilacs in your wake when you travel, but the neighborhood is nicer. _“A roomier house, fit for a woman of your stature,”_ you told her when you first moved in.

but at the same time, more things stay the same. you both love each other unconditionally; that was something to last a lifetime and more. your day to day lives are still the same. and you still make a point to gift her lilacs.

you cultivate a small garden and plant a few bushes in the backyard to clip from instead. you are making the arrangements more elaborate and occasional now, since the entire plants themselves were present at all times; arrangements mixed with other blossoms, crowns, wreaths, a hanging branch, a cake topper for your first anniversary. she adores the gestures, says it still reminds her of youth and first love. 

you would do anything to see that smile, see her happy.

***

five years pass quickly. life goes on, smooth as a delicate river.

one day, she tells you you are going to be a father.

you swear you nearly faint from joy.

***

after nine months, you both welcome your daughter into the world.

her name is Seiko. Seiko Toujou-Shinguuji. she is the most beautiful human being you have ever been blessed with, apart from your beloved.

_’life truly is beautiful,’_ you decide as you gaze into her golden eyes for the first time. she has her father’s eyes and, as you would later come to know, her mother’s face.

she is your daughter, and you love her.

***

life is beautiful for six years. six blissful, beautiful years.

until the day your wife is given her most demanding task yet: an order from the prime minister himself. he wants her to help the government win the war Japan is facing, and as fast as possible. you tell her she does not have to go. you tell her she has every right to deny the responsibility. but in her heart, through and through, she is simply a maid; she is selfless, impossible selfless.

you request that she be selfish, just this once in your lives. she smiles and shakes her head no; she is being presented a chance to save countless lives of citizens and soldiers alike, people of the country she has spent her whole life within- her country.

the last day you see her would be forever engraved in your mind; you send her off at the train station. she cries; you never see her cry. you embrace her, hold her, tell her you love her, _oh you love her so much._ Seiko clings to your arm, hugging her mother for what may be the last time in her life. Seiko knows something is happening; she does not understand all of it, of course she does not. but she is mature enough to know it is serious.

you slide a small silver coin, engraved with a lilac, into her gloved hand. a memoir to take with you, to remind you of home, you tell her. she smiles, diamond teardrops making her eyes shine like stars; broken, fragmented stars.

she tells you she will come home soon. she tells you to take care of Seiko. she tells you that she loves you, she loves you so.

you kiss her farewell. she hugs Seiko, a sad expression painted across her face.

she is young; only thirty. maybe society considers thirty to be old, but to you, her soul is aged beyond life itself. you were all just teenagers at one time, forced to grow up far too quickly.

you wave to her as the train takes her away.

she would never come to see her child grow up.

***

ten months later, you get a letter from the prime minister.

your beloved is dead.

you would come to remember that day for the rest of your life as the day the world shattered.

you cry.

it hurts like hell to know she is gone.

_’you promised that she would be kept safe,’_ you scream in your mind at the prime minister, at the country, at the whole fucking planet. _’you promised she would be alright. she promised that she would come home…’_

Seiko, now seven, races out of her room when she hears you cry. she takes one look at the teardrop-speckled paper in your hands and breaks down, too.

you cry with your daughter that night.

you go to bed holding Seiko in your arms, hugging your child to your chest while she cries herself to sleep, scared the world will come after her next.

you cry yourself to sleep, too.

***

you don’t want to keep going at this point. you wish you could just stop functioning. stop working. stop trying. _stop living._ but you are forced to. the planet does not stop turning for just anyone.

you have to hold on. for Seiko. she has just lost her mother; she will not be able to handle losing her father too.

the funeral service passes in a blur. your mind is not completely into it, but you break down and cry at home after the _osoushiki._ you tend to her _butsudan;_ your classmates visit, lighting incense in her honor and offering their prayers.

your wife’s grave is evicted in a graveyard just outside the city, a walk’s distance from your home, which has lost all warmth since the day you read the letter. you visit her, often taking Seiko with you, allowing her to sleep in your arms; that is the only thing she does now; sleep. sleep and cry and read and talk to her succulents about death and loss and hatred and sadness.

it breaks your heart.

you know your beloved would not want to see her daughter so shut-in and sad. you think about what she would want one night, laying in bed and curling under the blankets, comforting Seiko as usual. your beloved’s scent is already fading from them.

you decide that she would not want to see Seiko so alone because of you holing up in your grief. so you try your best to change, even if it hurts, even if everything hurt and the world was grey and you wished only to see your lover once again.

you try your best to be present, to be there for your child, to try and make her smile, even if just once.

it may have taken a month, but seeing Seiko smile makes you smile, too.

***

days turn to weeks, to months, to a year. you wave goodbye to Seiko as you send her off to school; her first day of the third primary year. her eyes crack a smile, although her mouth is covered by the mask she wears.

you are working from home today; a blessing of freedom. you clean up the kitchen before getting dressed. you would get to work now, but there is something you have to do first.

you have someone to visit.

***

you stand before her gravestone, a bouquet in your hands as you gaze upon the marker. your heart breaks a little every time you see it, every time you see her name engraved upon that rock.

_’Kirumi Toujou-Shinguuji.’_

next to it is an empty space; an empty space for when you join her, buried six feet under.

you twist the silver ring on your finger, your unbandaged finger, the scars of your childhood and abuse visible upon your skin. Kirumi was the one who made you brave enough, strong enough, confident enough to set eye upon your wounds. Kirumi was the one who inspired you, who comforted you, who loved you. the one who supported you, allowed you to face your past and tell your demons to go away, who helped you, bit by bit, to move on.

and now here you stand before her grave. the world is so unjust.

but you accept it, you are forced to accept it. you wear a sad smile under your mask when you crouch down by the gravestone on your knees.

“Kirumi. it has been too long since I last saw you.” you set the bouquet against the stone, removing the wilted one and tucking it in your bag. “Seiko is going into her third year of primary today. I can already imagine her entering junior high.” you chuckle softly. “but maybe we should let her be young for a while longer.”

you can feel the tears welling up in your eyes. “I love you, Kirumi.” you place a hand upon the gravestone, cold and unforgiving against your skin.

“I will see you again one day. but not soon. not when Seiko needs me, when my friends need me.” you wipe away your tears and stand up.

“rest well, my beloved, as always.” you begin to walk away. and when you turn back, you see a porcelain white gravestone upon a hill, a bouquet of lilacs leaning upon it.

**Author's Note:**

> in the language of flowers, lilacs represent "the first emotions of love" or, in other words, first love.


End file.
